


a man takes his sadness and throws it away (and then he's still left with his hands)

by behradtarazi



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Behavior, Character Study, During Canon, Gen, Guilt, Luminara Unduli Deserves Better, Repression, can you believe i did something canon compliant???, the jedi are so repressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behradtarazi/pseuds/behradtarazi
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Luminara Unduli is not completely without emotions, and the war takes its toll.
Relationships: Barriss Offee & Luminara Unduli, Luminara Unduli & Quinlan Vos
Kudos: 39





	a man takes his sadness and throws it away (and then he's still left with his hands)

Master Luminara Unduli is one of the strictest members of the Jedi Order. It has always been so. It will always be so.

She was unusually serious even as a child; Quinlan Vos laughed beside her, and Luminara sat with her back steel straight, head tilted, like she was listening to something that no one else could hear.

The Force sang to her, then.

It's been far too quiet since the war began.

She doesn't like it. If she was anyone else, it might be said that the near-silence unnerves her, but Master Unduli is always terrifyingly calm. Nothing fazes her.

Or so the rumors say.

Privately, behind double-locked doors when she is alone, headdress off, simply Luminara, she worries. She worries for the Padawans, for the Knights and Masters and younglings, the Council, the Order as a whole. She worries for the clones. For the Republic.

But that simply will not do, and so she closes her eyes and meditates until she can banish the attachment from her mind and summon that unfailing quiet once more.

Luminara is always at war with her heart.

It's been worse, since her Padawan - since Barriss -

It is hard to put into words what Barriss did. It is hard to put into words the jagged, sharp, bloody heartache Luminara feels in her weaker moments.

Even if she wanted to, there is no one she could tell.

She considers calling Quinlan, when it's late at night and she can't quite seem to breathe properly anymore, when it's late at night and she can only think of how badly she has failed Barriss, but she always stops before she can reach for the communicator.

Quinlan listens. He cares. He's warm and compassionate and clever, but he wouldn't understand this.  _ Couldn't _ understand this.

He had Aayla for his Padawan, protected her and supported her and raised her to be a better Jedi than he.

He had done everything Luminara seemingly couldn't.

And so she doesn't call him.

No, she doesn't call him, sits there wounded and raw instead, curled over and gasping for breath like she's recovering from a punch to the gut, every Jedi instinct she has  _ screaming  _ about the danger in this, unfiltered emotion, loving and losing recklessly, wildly, eternally.

Because it does feel eternal.

It does feel eternal, when she's alone and refusing to let any tears fall, it feels like the hurt goes on forever and ever and ever.

She hasn't spoken to Barriss since the attack. Not even a word.

She should, she knows. She has to eventually, to put the matter to rest.

She's not sure she is strong enough for that.

_ Luminara  _ is not strong enough for that.  _ Master Unduli _ , however, could not be stopped by a legion.

But Barriss has already gotten too much of Master Unduli.

It has been a long time since Luminara has shown the galaxy anyone else. A long, long time.

There is no shame in that, she knows, no shame in following the Code and being the Jedi she was taught to be - there is honor in it. But sometimes...sometimes? Master Unduli cannot risk going against everything she has learned to believe for only a  _ sometimes _ . The price could be too great.

War has taught her many things about price. 

Including some she thinks the Jedi Order might have been better off having never learned. 

It will be hard, to one day go back to being peacekeepers after spending years at war, but it’s not her role to plan for that future, is it? No. No, it’s her mission to win battles and lead her men, and she will do just that without complaint, without a lingering doubt. Showing a united front is an important part of the effort, after all.

_ United.  _

That’s almost amusing, in an aching sort of way. The Jedi are supposed to be united, and Luminara has never felt more alone.

She’s too late to reach out for Quinlan now (the Council sent him on a mission, though he couldn’t tell her where or what or why, more so than usual when he has always made an exception to that rule, just for her, despite her disapproval. There had been something so final in his voice that she almost felt a hint of fear, and she’s done her best to brush the feeling away), and Depa is comatose, and Aayla is in the middle of the worst of the war, and there is no one else she would turn to with this, not anymore.

Not anymore.

She has lost a lot to this fight.

She is certain that she will lose more.

The idea of it, of another one dying or dead, is enough to send pain lacing through her heart, but that sounds like attachment, sounds like danger, and focusing on future hurt has never done anything more than just that:  _ hurt. _

The same goes for the past.

There is a difference between productive reflection and wallowing in self-pity, and she has found that line and refused to cross it, time and time again. Even when it feels as if she’s drowning or drowned already, and it would be easier to swim down instead of fighting her way back to the surface once more. She doesn’t give in. She was never taught to.

It leaves a mark on her, the resistance, though it’s easy to ignore, because she still stands tall with her head held high, still appears calm and cool and unflappable, but there’s a tiredness in her eyes, a new kind of exhaustion, impossible to recognize if you haven’t seen it in yourself.

Once, Luminara comes face to face with Anakin Skywalker, and for a moment it’s like staring into a mirror, like calling to like in the most agonizing way possible. 

In the same instant, his mind summons up the ghost of Ahsoka and hers of Barriss, and they turn away without a word.

That is an open wound that will never quite heal, a weakness she can’t seem to be rid of, even as she knows, she  _ knows  _ she must go to her Padawan, must  _ speak  _ to her, at least once. At least once.

And maybe she does.

Maybe Luminara steals away from her troops when she is next on Coruscant, walks to the cells with her formidable grace, guards falling silent and moving aside under her unflinching gaze. 

Maybe she finds Barriss.

Maybe she bites back yells, maybe she asks for brutal, blunt understanding, maybe she refuses to deliver absolution and serves bitter acceptance and unconditional love instead. Maybe she fixes things, somehow, with time.

Maybe she does all of that. Maybe she does none of it.

Whatever the case, whatever the universe, it does not change this:

As she dies, Luminara thinks of Barriss.


End file.
